Goat's Tales
by Bromao
Summary: War with the IMC is at a standstill. Both sides are scheming and waiting for the right moment to strike. And in a Marauders camp, an half-drunk veteran Pilot rambles about his time in the war with whoever's willing to listen.
1. Preface

Hey everyone! Author here; there are a couple things I wanted to tell you before you start reading Goat's Tales.

Goat's Tales started, well, as a joke. There was this Titanfall 2 game where I killed 100+ mobs over the course of a single attrition match and after having a good laugh about it with my friend I thought, what the hell, maybe I can turn it into a short story. And that's where Just Another Day In The War was born; although of course it's not just going to be a recounting of me punching stalker after stalker with my Ion for five minutes. The way I imagined it, things went down a bit differently (and more interestingly) for Goat, our story's protagonist, and you're going to hear it directly from him. That's right; everything you're going to read in Goat's Tales is what our friend says aloud; I wanted the reader to feel like they're sitting there in this gloomy tavern listening to him, so there's no inner dialogue, or any kind of description that doesn't come directly from Goat. And I hope I succeeded in that.

Anyway, that short story which is now chapter 1 should have been it. But then I figured, why stop? I liked the character I had created, and I wanted to flesh him out a little bit more, create some side characters - _very_ loosely based on the friends I play with - and have his narration lead somewhere. Now, the story isn't finished yet, and I don't know how long it will take me because I'm not a very quick writer, but I have six chapters finished and at this point I'm confident I can share them. And while I'm satisfied with what I wrote, at the same time I don't think my story's perfect - there are some parts I wish I could execute better - so if you have any kind of advice or feedback to give, it'd obviously be very welcome.

But I've held you up long enough! Go hit that next chapter button at the bottom of the page and start reading!


	2. Just Another Day In The War

What's that, you greenie? You wanna know how I earned myself this badge? Ah, 's quite the story, that one. Dates to back when I had just got myself my Pilot stripes. "No more walking in the mud with the rest of the grunts, finally", I told myself. 'cept my old Elle Ti had somethin' else in mind for me. Top brass hated him, you know, so they always gave him the missions no one else wanted. No, not the dangerous ones, you dolt. This army, hell, any army's full of daredevils who always volunteer for dangerous missions 'cause they've got somethin' to prove, an' they picture themselves as going in guns blazing saving the day an' then coming back to the base and all the ladies swooning around them. Like them Six-Fours, you know 'em, right? As for me, I'm mighty fine with just doin' what I'm ordered to do, thank you very much.

What was I sayin'? Ah, right, right. So Ops always gave the ol' man the worst missions. Have to check if a town's boobytrapped an' ready to blow up to high heaven? Need to send some boots on the ground of some backwater, god-forgotten, irrelevant place because some rat farted near a sensor? They sent 'im. An' as a proper, loyal soldier under the man's command, I went with 'im, 'cept now I was a proper Pilot, wasn't I? No more of that crap for me, I thought. Now I have a Titan to pilot an' a war to win an' alcohol to drink. Well, more 'n I already did, anyway.

Well, he thought differently. I don't know who he had to bribe or threaten, but he convinced Ops, just that one time, to attach a Pilot to his unit, and you can bet your military career on it, he chose me. One last run with 'is squad. Musta thought it was some kind of farewell gift, the mad dog. A proper farewell gift.

So I got sent with 'im to Bravo-217, planet Troy, to check out some god knows what Ops thought needed checking, and- oh, I can see it in your eyes, you hear Troy and you think about MacAllan savin' all those people, don't you? Well, MacAllan's been dead for a while now, and so is any hope that shithole had of being pleasant to walk upon. Any kind of glory was there, the guy stole it. Not that I mind.

So anyway, we were there, an' I was cursing every minute of it, an' we were close to the Odyssey, you know? That wreck might have been long dead but it still gave me shivers, I swear. Then Elle Ti halts the squad, an' calls me up to the front, an' tells me, "There's a beacon making noise far side of the wreck. I need you to check it."

Now, lemme tell you, you don't get far in that squad without some kind of sixth sense warning you of shit about to come your way, an' mine was blaring. Whole thing stank worse than Ol' Ruckus' ma's ass, an' I even told him so. "All due respect, Elle Ti, but this stinks worse than your ma's ass." and he looks at me, and he grins like it was the funniest thing in the world, an' he says, "I know, 's why I'm sending ya." A proper fucking bastard, Ol' Ruckus. So while they sit their ass in some smuggler's bunk and just wait for my sitrep, I get myself over there, staring over my shoulder every two seconds like I'm a fuckin' thief an' I know law is after me, you know? An' I get to this beacon and, lo and fucking behold, turns out I was right. All of a sudden shit starts falling from the sky and Ol' Ruckus is yelling in my comm asking me what the fuck did I just do an' I'm telling him if we both get out of this one, I'm going to drop an arc grenade in his privy next time he's taking a shit an' I mean it this time.

Now while I'm sayin' this, I can see Stalkers advancin' on me. They told you 'bout those things back in trainin', didn't they? But training won't get you ready for what it means having them creep towards you, glowing red like the horseman of War's own mare. They're like those shambling corpses with a thing for brains they had in the movies of old, 'cept they've got bodies made of metal, and guns, and blow up when they die. Makes up for a nice package, don't it just?

But I had no time to cower back then, did I? So I did what I do best, and that's saving my own skin. Had my Thunderbolt with me, which helped thin 'em out some, but those things always run out of juice too soon, don't they? So I'm there, almost out of bullets, Thunderbolt as dry as Briggs' sense of humor, taking cover in what seems to be like the only patch of trees in the entire goddamn planet, and all the while Ol' Ruckus is yelling in my comms that they're under fire.

Luckily being a Pilot has its perks, don't it? Namely, being authorized to call in a Titan drop when need arises, and let me be frank with you, need for a ten foot tall machine of destruction was risin' higher by the minute. An' I don't know if Stalkers are programmed to feel anything, but I don't think even their robot brains were pleased to see 'n Ion drop in their midst and start kicking the metaphorical crap out of them. I swear on my mom's grave, me 'n my Ion must have wasted at least a hundred of them before the smoke finally cleared and everythin' stood still. All my joints were achin' something fierce, my Titan's dampeners got busted when one of the chromed fuckers decided to hug her an' blow himself up, but I still had to check how Ruckus an' the others were doin', didn't I? So I got my ass over there, and what do I see? A bunch of Stalkers reduced to smoking junk, the squad chilling like they're on R&R, an' Ruckus, soon as he saw me, the wanker starts laughing. I ask him what's so funny, and he's like, "Thought them Pilot stripes made ya forgot how ta fight, seein' the time you took. Nice t'see that ain't the case, ya prick."

Turned out the son of a rabid dog had placed the beacon himself. How he got his hands on an IMC beacon, I have no bloody idea an' I'm afraid to ask, but I told you about how t'was meant to be some sort of a farewell gift, didn't I? Well, almost getting killed by scores of Stalkers, that's Ruckus' idea of a farewell gift.

What? No no no, I didn't get this badge for killing all those Stalkers. This one here is a, what's its name… 'Supreme Gallantry' badge, or somethin' of the like. They gave it to me for not killin' Ol' Ruckus when we came back, y'know. Still dropped that arc 'nade in his privy, though. Whole damned battalion was laughin' their breeches off when he came out, ha!


	3. A Kind Heart

So, there was this one time one of our missions almost went south 'cause of ornithology. Yes, or-nee-thaw-low-gee, you heard me right. You know what that is, right? Or are you like one o' them uncultured thugs who only know 'bout guns an' shootin' them properly? Because that ain't me, nossir. Goat here, he's got all the right cultures, you can trust me 'n that. Anyways, what was I talking 'bout? Ah, right, that one.

Back then, it was still just me, Nosedive 'n Heartlock. A proper band of troublemakers, the lot of us. Perhaps not as quaint as Barker's bunch of mercs, but we got things done, an' we did 'em good. Somethin' to be proud of, which is all you can ask when you're a soldier in a war. We got ourselves assigned to a recon op, straightforward stuff. Get to this area of suspect IMC activity, see what's what, ascertain... yes, that's the word they used, 'ascertain'. Why you looking at me like that? As I was sayin', we had to find out if and how many IMC forces were there, an' get our collective asses out of there, none being the wiser that we'd ever set foot there, if possible. Thought I'd heard a hint o' sarcasm in that last bit, but maybe 'twas just me and not major bein' sassy. Benefit 'o doubt 'n all that.

In theory, the place was set up as a mining company, relatively far from the closest inhabited center, surrounded by thick forest an' hugging the side o' a mountain. A perfect cover for some shady proposition, if you think 'bout it. No one's goin' to be surprised that a minin' complex looks 'n awful lot like some industrial facility, or that it's got drop barges comin' in an' going out daily. And if you'd gone and checked, all the papers for it were in order. But we'd come across some hints that not everythin' was as it looked, so to speak. First, all personnel for the complex had been brought in from off-world; second, they had denied access to any kind of world-based regulation inspection, and paid any correspondin' fines without hesitation; third, tryin' to trace the company's ownership led to a jumble of front men an' off-system holdings an' all that complicated jargon that means there's somethin' not quite right. In short, it was worth checkin' out th' place.

An' as we got there, unheard an' unseen, scopin' out the place, our suspicion only grew. You know, it's not uncommon for similar ventures to have security on site - at times corporate competition can get a bit aggressive, if you see what I mean - but the muscle they had there? That went above an' beyond corporate security. The weaponry, the lookouts, entire damned place looked military alright. And military could only mean our common friends were behind it, right? Now, our job mighta been done there. Us three, rest assured we don't lack bravado, but gettin' shot to pieces wasn't part of our program for the day, not if we could help it. So we could've just bailed, gone back to HQ with the info we'd gathered an' called it a day.

We could have. But we didn't, 'cause we're nothin' if not thorough, trust me 'n that. We knew somethin' was afoot, alright, but we didn't know what, so I managed to talk Nosedive into doin' some additional recon, this time from the inside. He's quite the mission-bound man, you know. Always lookin' to get the job done the right way an' get back home 'n one piece. Might seem a bit stiff at times, but he's a good man an' an even better Pilot. Wouldn't trade him with any of the chumps from them other squads. Point is, since he's actin' officer when we're on the field, he's the one took the decision to infiltrate the place, not me, nossir. The fact that I had a backpack full of demolition charges an' no intention of bringin' 'em back to base is merely coincidental.

Getting into the place was easier than you'd expect, truth be told. We'd noticed that every now an' then, they'd send out vehicles, most likely to scope the area an' see if there were any other promisin' sites or somethin'. But what I'm getting at is, apparently security at the gate for this vehicles wasn't especially meticolous - they'd just check IDs and that'd be it - so we figured that'd be our best ticket in. So next time we see one of those vehicles leave, we readied the true and tested tree-on-the-road trick, an' as they stopped to see what was up, they found us waitin' for them. We left 'em tied by the roadside, took their uniforms and IDs, drove right up to the gate an' wham, in we went, smooth as silk.

So we waited 'till around lunch break, when activity died down a tad, an' it was a good time for us to have a bit of an undisturbed look-see. An' what we found it was, they didn't actually lie about it bein' a minin' operation. From what bits an' pieces we were able to gather while in there, they were extractin' some mineral whose name I can't remember, then experimentin' various kinds of metallic alloys with it. An' by "experimentin'", I mean firin' anti-titan and titan-grade weaponry at plates made with said alloys an' seein' what happened. Frankly, it didn't seem like they were havin' much success with it, but hey, why run the risk? Hehe, the surprised faces Heartlock an' Nosedive made when I pulled out the demo charges. Priceless, I tell you, but they knew my idea wasn't half bad, because it wasn't, right? When in doubt, blow it to smithereens, 's what I say.

Didn't take long for us to set the charges. Fifteen minute timer, 'nough for us to get out of there, we thought. Except right as we linked up again, we heard an alarm blarin'. Some good Samaritan probably had found the chumps we'd left tied, we thought. Not much time for thinkin', though, as soon the sound of heavy boots was resoundin' through the corridors an' we were quite literally on a clock to get out of there, 's you might imagine. Now, one of those patrols, 'twas coming straight towards us, but luckily there were some conveniently-placed barrels we could hide behind, an' even if one o' them turned out to be scrupulous enough to take a gander back there, our stealth field generators would have made sure even his or her clever brain wouldn't be enough to best our wits.

Now, if you've been through trainin' an' paid attention to it, you should know three things about 'em stealth fields. First is, they don't last enough. Second, you can't see your own hands an' I always found that a fair bit disconcertin' an' 's the reason I don't like 'em. Third, they might not be able to see you, maybe, but that don't mean they can't hear you. Which, 'course, we had well in mind as the patrol was walkin' right past us an' we were silent as the graves in a chilly winter night.

Now that's when we heard chirpin'. An' I don't mean chirpin' as in the obnoxious sound PDAs love to make, I mean chirpin' as in the sound birds make, when they're hungry, happy, annoyed, in love, basically anythin' that ain't sleeping, me thinks. An' it wasn't coming from outside, 'course - between the sound of machinery an' the steel interior walls, we couldn't have heard them. No, it was coming straight from Heartlock. What? No, it wasn't _Heartlock_ doin' the chirpin', you dolt - way he explained it later to me an' Nosedive, while we were out in the forest he'd found two baby birds layin' on the ground, an' since he's Heartlock, he couldn't just leave 'em there, so 'course he stashed them as carefully as he could in his backpack. Thing is, their world suddenly disappearin' around them cause of the stealth bein' activated must've discombobulated 'em somethin' fierce, an' so they did the only thing they know how to do: chirpin'.

Not that we had time to think 'bout the whys and the hows at the time. The noise wouldn't stop an' it was so loud it alerted the patrol, which meant the next few minutes involved some shootin', the throwing of various an' assorted nades, a lot of runnin', an' a daring escape through the front gate with the same vehicle we'd come in, all graced by the sweet sound of a facility blowin' up in the background. But we still had to get to a safe zone, right? Unlikely they'd let us go scot free, is what we thought. So as I'm busy drivin' to get us out of there an' Nosedive's callin' for extraction, we hear Heartlock going, "Oh, thank the heavens, they're fine.", an' he's there with these two plumed chicks in his hands an' a stupid smile on his face. Man's around thirty, an' he's there starin' at the two things like they're some sort o' national fucking treasure, completely unmindful of the fact that they almost got us murdered in there.

I'd trust Heartlock with my life any day of the week, I tell you. He's the kind of guy who never let me down when it mattered, an' 's not somethin' I say lightly. But sometimes? Sometimes I really want to punch him 'n the face, I swear.

What? 'How silent are the graves in a chilly winter night'? Same as they are durin' a warm summer day, what kind 'o doltheaded question is that?


	4. Making Friends

...lissen, my squad ain't small, what nonsense you on about? 's just big enough, an' we like it the way it is. Less names 'n faces to remember, 'n all that.

Okay, okay, maybe there's a reason there's just five of us. Y'see, here's the thing. We don't have a name. People hear about Barker's ACEs, or Torsson's Stormbreakers, an' they think, "Fuck, I wanna be one of 'em". Name matters, an' we don't have one, we's just Nosedive or Goat's squad, or even "that group of sorry bums", an' who d'you think wants to be called a bum? No one, that's who.

Okay, okay, I see you ain't too convinced. You got me. Here's the thing: to become a Pilot, ya have to be good, and they make sure you know it, right? So new Pilots, they're always a bit cocky, like they feel the world's at their feet now that they have their own steel-and-chrome friend ready to fight at their side. Hell, I was like that too, back then, so's not like I'm blamin' them. Point is, when you're like that, y'only want to be wi' the best. An'… it's not like we ain't good, but we ain't the best either, you know? People wanna be like them Six-Fours, who're remembered as the best o' the best, while us… did you know that once me 'n Heartlock, breaking mission parameters who'd been very carefully made clear to us, managed to pilfer an IMC battleship, but we didn't get th' landing quite right an' ended up on Briggs' command tent? You don't hear of Gates messin' it like that, do you?

An' there's also the fact that we ain't exactly the friendliest bunch. Well, yes, I'm friendly with you, but only 'cause you buy me t' drink, you hear me? Don't get weird ideas. Nosedive 'specially, he has an hard time trusting people. Hehe, I remember when our two newest members joined. Shindig 'n Haywire, their name was. Well, still is, 'less they decided world ain't worthy of them anymore since I last saw 'em this mornin'. Briggs herself sent 'em to us, if you can believe it. She'd probably had enough of our shenanigans, you know, an' even we couldn't refuse a direct order from th' lady.

Anyway, 's early morning, an' the two lads come t' our bunk, while we's sitting outside playin' cards. An' Shindig, he starts introducing himself, sayin' how he graduated at some 'cademy an' he's proud of bein' here an' he can't wait to get to know us. An' then comes Haywire's turn, an' he does the same, right? Acting all well-mannered, like he's introducing himself to her lover's dad or somethin'. Now, picture the scene: these guys're talkin' an' we's just playing cards, paying 'em no heed at all. An' as they's done talkin', we jus' keep playing, an' they start looking confused, Shindig looks at Haywire who just shrugs, as dumbfounded as he was. Then our game's over, an' Nosedive, who lost, he turns 'round an' fixes his eyes on the both of them, loadin' his stare with as much contempt as 'twas humanly possible, an' after a good ten seconds which I assume were very uncomfortable for the lads, he says, an' I kid you not, "What're you, some kind of fucks?"

An' me 'n Heartlock, we just burst out laughin' an' we couldn't stop. I swear my belly was achin' and I had tears in me eyes, an' I'm sure the same's true for Heartlock as well. An' Nosedive's just staring at 'em like he's 'spectin an answer, an the poor lads, they're there with a stunned look 'n their face, stammerin' as they're tryin' to come up with one, but what the fuck's they 'sposed to say? Anyway, I then took pity on 'em, at least once I was done laughin', an' I suggested not to take it th' wrong way. Which I probably would have in their stead. First thing I'd do would be punch Nosedive in the throat for his lack of 'spect. Luckily for all parts 'nvolved, they didn't do that. Plus, we soon found out that they'd gone though trainin' with our the same drill sarge we had, and anyone comes out still standin' after ninety days wi' him, he deserves at least an ounce of respect. Riven Rock — Riven's his actual first name, 'f you can believe it. His ma must've had a proper sense of humor, ha. Anyways, the man was the meanest bastard ever been drillin' soldiers. Granted, 's thanks to him if I'm still here takin' names, y'know? Can't say he did much for me stayin' sober or out o' trouble though.

He also had this habit of givin' every soldier under 'is tender care a made-up name, which just explains th' stupid nicknames Shindig and Haywire got, y'know? An' there's a reason for 'em, usually, though I never were really able t' figure out some of them. Like Shindig! Guy 's a name like that, you'd 'spect him to be one never to turn down a bottle of rum come straight from the inner rim, right? But no, don't get me wrong, Shindig's a fine enough fellow, but he ain't exactly the partyin' type, unlike yours truly. I even went an' asked the lad 'bout his name, an' he was like, "I dunno." How even… at times I wonder if you young'uns have it all right 'n the head, y'know? There's bein' distracted and there's not knowin' what your own damn name stands for. I know what my name stands for, an' with the alcol I been drinkin', I shouldn' even remember which way's left an' which is right. What's that? You wants t'know 'bout my name? Oh nossir, I ain't tellin'.


	5. For A Bottle Of Bourbon

Chrissake, you're a persistent one, aren't you? I tol' you 'bout my name and now y're going to keep pesterin' me 'less I tell what it means. Alright, 'lright, wi' the amoun' of alcohol you buy me, I guess you deserved t'know at least that, tho' I warn you, you'll laugh, an' then you'll tell your mates an' they'll laugh too. Not that I mind, truth be told—nothin' bad with givin' you somethin' to be merry 'bout 'midst all the fightin' an' killin', right? Which is 'sactly what I say, nothin' like a good laugh to chase away th' revenants o' battle, ha! 's why I like bein' such a troublemaker 'round camp, y'know. You start only having war 'n mind, it digs deep into you an' you forget of a time past when you din' have to rely 'n the piece of plastic 'n carbon fiber in your hands to see th'end of the day. An' sure, troublemakin' might lead to some disgruntled lads every now 'n then, but thas' just 'n them for not takin' it th' right way, isn't it? Ask me if I regret any o' the surprises me 'n th' others concocted, an' you already know the answer. Which is no. Just 'n case you don' know me that well yet.

…okay, no, y'know what, maybe there's one I just would've liked it went another way. So I told you 'bout Haywire, right? Proper tech wizard, that one. Which was jus' about what our squad was lackin', since if y'ask me, th'easiest way to deal with IMC machinery is jus' shootin' it until all's left is a smolderin' wreck. Nosedive 'n Heartlock are a wee bit more patient, an' Shindig dabbles in it, but they don' have the knack for it, not like Haywire does, nossir. So, awyways, he comes t'me, an' he says he found out that our quartermaster—that's the man who handles resupplyin', in case you weren't payin' attention in trainin'—anyway, through some not exactly appropriate accordin' to rules of conduct fiddlin', Haywire had found out that th' man had had 'n entire crate of Basilean Bourbon delivered 'n stashed away, so logically, first thing the lad did was come to good ol' Goat. Now, you know me. I'm a fine connoisseur of alcholic drinks, finest 'n the entire camp an' anyone says otherwise, you punch'em in the throat because they's lyin', you hear me? Now, truth be told I was a bit torn, since me 'n Fachner - thas' th' quartermaster for you - had known for a while an' he still owed me a favour or three. Or maybe 'twas me who owed him one, but it don't matter now, does it? Anyways, 'n entire crate of Basilean Bourbon wasn't a thing I was ready to turn a blind eye to, 'specially since it was bein' kept hidden from me an' I just couldn't let that fly. Plus, 's not like we'd have stolen it or anythin'. More like, borrowed, had a taste, an' enjoyed Fachner's dismay at seein' his treasure disappear into thin air, hah. An' then we would've given th' Bourbon back to him. Some of it, anyways.

So, me 'n Haywire were on th' same page. Come th' next night, we get out of our bunks an' we head straight for the storehouse. Th' quartermaster's lodging's right next to it, but Fachner was no cause for worry, as he sleeps like a rock an' we wasn't plannin' on makin' no noise anyways. His dog though, it had this bad habit to start barkin' like Hell's servants were afoot soon as anyone tried walkin' in a half a mile radius. Luckily for us however, the runt was already familiar with my scent, so I got close 'nough to toss him some special beef jerky I'd readied for the occasion, hehe. Hey, why you lookin' at me like that? I didn't poison the mutt if thas' what you're worried about, no, 'twas just some meat laced with th' stuff Heartlock takes when he can't sleep, though I can't say I was too careful with th' dosage, but the four legged anti-burglary device didn't die, so all's well that ends well, right?

I mean, he didn't wake up for three days straight, but y'know, I ain't no pet doctor an' if I was maybe I wouldn't be here. But I'm digressin'. So we get to the storehouse's sealed door, which stood no chance 'gainst Haywire's magic tricks. Plenty o' stuff in there, as you might well 'spect, but we'd only one thing in mind, didn't we? The Bourbon, thas' what we came for. An' sure enough, there at the end of the room, there stood a conspicous—lookin' safe with "Here's the Bourbon" written all over it. Not literally, 'n case you's wonderin', as I know y'are, 's just a way of sayin'. Haywire spots it as well, an' he strides over to it, PDA in hand like's some sort of passpartout and sure 'nough, it don't take long before his fiddlin' leads to the sweet click of a lock unlockin'. He steps aside an' tells me, "You do the honors, Goat."

An' there they stood, the golden-hued bottles, filled to the brim with the promise o' faraway worlds an' their beaches white like the clouds an' meadows green like th' color of unfalterin' hope. Ahh, I could already imagine th' taste of that liquid ambrosia 'n my mouth... An' thas' when my eyes dropped on the crate. A regular wooden crate, 'cept there was stickied a piece of paper an' on it was written, "fuck you Goat". Which considerin', I would have found amusin' at the time, 'cept below it I noticed some sort 'o metal 'n wire contraption an' a twenty-second timer tickin' down. Fachner had RIGGED the Bourbon, can you believe th' man? I look at Haywire, as dazed as I am, an he's like, "not in TWENTY SECONDS, toss it OUT!" so I grab the crate an' I bolt outside an' I toss it as far as I can an' I drop to th' ground. 'Cept the crate instead o' blowin' up starts blarin' like a goddamn fire alarm so I look up jus' 'n time to see it landin' an' every single bottle in it smashin'. An' as all that's happening, Fachner's waken up, an' I see him lookin' at me face down in the dirt, at th' smashed bottles, at me again', and he says, "those were for your birthday, you sorry sack of salty shit." Turned out th' man was fully 'spectin for me to find out his secret an' had made sure I wouldn't get away with it.

An' 's not like the rest of th' camp wasn't made aware of why they'd been so rudely dragged away from th' land of dreams. I kid you not, I was th' laughin' stock of the entire company for a month straight. But 's not like I didn't deserve it, isn't it? So moral of th' story is, if you think someone y'know 's hidin' somethin' from you, better check th' calendar before enactin' some tomfoolery.

An' that's tha- wha? My name? Ah, crap, I'd hoped you'd forget 'bout it. Okay, okay. My battle name's Goat 'cause sarge Riven Rock always used to say my laughter reminded him of the bleatin' of a goat he once had. Thas' it. Thas' the grand story.

See, I KNEW you'd laugh!


	6. From Dusk Till Dawn

Y'know what's the worst thing about havin' informants among the IMC? That at times, they've got info that just can't be sent though th' waves, so someone has to put their lives 'n the line to go 'n get some piece 'o data storage that maybe might be useful. Not that I don't like havin' people willin' to risk their hide just to keep us on our toes, mind you, 's not what I'm saying. I just don't like that specific part that involves havin' to go 'n get a piece of plastic. And yes, I speak out 'o personal 'sperience, havin' had to do just that a bunch o' times under Ol' Ruckus, you remember 'bout him, right? But th' story I'm goin' to tell you now ain't about one of those times. Usually regular infantry handle those chores, don't they? Don't need no Pilot or his Titan t' pick up a data drive. Except this one time, the brass couldn't risk it. Th'informant had gone MIA as soon as he'd sent us the location where he'd dropped the data. Most likely got caught, poor fellow, but we didn't have no time to think 'bout him, unfortunately. As it always is 'n such cases, that data was "of utmost importance" or whatever 'twas the suits over at Intel said it was, so even if location was compromised, someone had t' go an' get it, an' it couldn't just be a bunch o' grunts.

So that someone ended up bein' us. Me 'n Haywire - him bein' our tech guy, as you well know - would be boots on th' ground, keepin' as low a profile as possible, while Shindig 'n Heartlock would be hoverin' with a drop-barge close to orbit, ready to drop in with th' heavy guns at every hint 'o trouble. Nosedive, ah… He couldn't be there, which was a damn shame if y'ask me, but 's not like I didn't trust my squadmates' Tones to do th' job just fine.

Anyways, just so you knows if you ever end up tangled 'n a chore like this, know that dead drops are never, an' I mean never, located 'n pleasant spots. Though to be fair, this time we was fairly lucky since it involved no trundlin' through sewers with a metal detector or havin' to climb a rocky cliff to get to some eagle's nest or whatever th'fuck that one was. I swear on me grandmother's grave, some people's brains just ain't capable of doin' things the easy way, y'know? Not this time though. Dead drop was 'n this ruined city of old — place'd been like that since 'fore the war — in this sort of archive or somethin'. Rotten place was 'n the middle of a square, n' a fairly big one at that. Now open spaces in cities, they're a proper two-edged-sword, as the sayin' goes, since if we had any kind of trouble plannin' to ruin our day, we could see it comin', but at the same time said trouble could just as easily see us go in. Which 's just what they did, by the way.

But back to me 'n Haywire. We cross the square, we get in, weapons at the ready, but we weren't expectin' no trouble, truth be told. At least not the way in, 'cause, if anyone was watchin', they'd have waited for us to come out so they could take whatever info we'd found from our cold dead hands instead of havin' to look for it themselves. So we get into this archive, or whatever it was. Haywire starts lookin' for the dead drop's location, while I take a look around and see what's what. Now, the people comfortably chillin' up there in our barge, they were watchin' a live feed from our helmets, and among our audience, there were Heartlock 'n Shindig, as should be obvious. And as I'm looking at a bunch of shelves, I hear Shindig holding his breath, then askin' me to retrace some o' my steps. An' I wonder, what in the blue blazes has the lad seen now? An' I get back to this shelf with a bunch of rectangular plastic boxes an' Shindig's getting all excited an' as I grab one o' those he starts blabberin' about dee-vu-dees or somethin', I have no idea. An' this box is orange tinted with some guys 'n it wieldin' weapons my grandfather might've been usin' back when he was young an' I don't think he ever was, truth be told, but Shindig goes on tellin' me it's a long-lost cult classic or somethin' and I grab some other boxes and he gets more excited by the minute an' he's askin' me if I can bring them up top.

Now, imagine th' quandary I was facin' down there. I was gettin' my feet wet 'n a place I didn't want to be in, doin' somethin' I didn't particularly enjoy, an' Shindig, who's a good lad all things considered, was pesterin' me about somethin' that wasn't even pertainin' to mission parameters. If I was Nosedive, I'd have shut down communication with him as soon as he'd started blatherin' about those plastic boxes, but I wasn't him, right? Thas' why I even considered playin' the role of the glorified delivery boy an' makin' the lad happy, but truth be told, I never got the chance to, since the next few seconds were, ah…quite hectic, yes, thas' a good word. In order: first Haywire calls me, 'cause he's found the thing we'd came to look for. Then, our eyes 'n the sky notify me that we've got tangos creepin' towards us, as well expected, an' they've got a couple Reapers with them, which was a wee bit less expected, y'know? Then, we go look for the secondary exit 'n the back of the place, 'cept Haywire's blueprints forgot to mention it was crumbled, so that was a no go. Now you're probably thinkin', "you're a goddamn Pilot, why didn't you use a window", 'cept that goddamn rat trap had, for reasons that escape me comprehension, barred windows like it was some sort o' jail, 'cause we don't want scraps of paper an' plastic boxes to grow wings an' fly away, now do we? So now we got hostiles enterin' the place, we's stuck with no real way out an' a firefight n' our hands we don't really want to get bogged in, but luckily we've also got friends 'n the sky, don't we? An' as I call for support, Heartlock tells me they're already 'n their way an' that I should keep my head down because he's landin' close. "What do you mean, close", I ask, an' he's like, "You'll see", an' thas' when I hear the familiar an' oh-so-comforting sound of a Titan breachin' atmosphere an' blazin' towards the ground. 'Cept I didn't have much time to feel comforted 'cause Heartlock, seein' as how we were about to get swamped, elected to land his Tone straight on the buildin'. The very same buildin' which, I feel obligated to remind you, me 'n Haywire were in.

Always the pragmatical one, Heartlock, 'cept those times when he ain't, as I told you. Poor sods comin' to get us didn't expect a few tons of metal 'n rubble to land on their heads, an' despite havin' to go through a bit of a concrete-filled kerfuffle ourselves, me 'n Haywire were in a relatively safe area, or at least, as safe as you can be in a buildin' thas' about to wave goodbye. But hey, at least it meant we could get out of the damn place, didn't it? Plenty o' ways out in a buildin' that's bein' smashed to bits. An' we did that just in time too, otherwise we'd have missed the show. I don't know if Reapers are supposed to be 'fraid, but I don't think the two that were there felt any kind o' glee at the sight o' two Tones rainin' on their parade, hehe. An' it's not like the IMC footsoldiers were much better off — don't think they 'spected a similar display of force 'n our side. Whatever piece o' info it was we were sent to retrieve, must've meant more to us than it did to them.

Anyways, once the fightin' was over we met up with the other two, an' I see Shindig lookin' at what's left of the archive, then comin' towards me, lookin' a bit downcast, an' he asks me "Hey Goat, I guess you didn't have time to…?" an' as if to underline what the lad was about to say, th' building behind me finishes collapsin' with a rumble, an' it looked like somethin' inside o' Shindig was crumblin' as well. I never managed to try an' comfort the poor lad though, 'cause before I could say anythin', I got interrupted by Shindig's own Tone, of all things. "PILOT", it said, "SERVER-SIDE COPIES OF ANY DOCUMENT STORED ON-SITE WERE PRESENT. IT IS UNKNOWN WHETHER ANY OF IT WAS VALUABLE.", an' Shindig looks at it like he's not sure what it's tryin' to say, an' the Tone goes on, "TO DETERMINE THEIR VALUE, THOROUGH EXAMINATION IS REQUIRED. I HAVE MADE A COPY OF THEM AND THEY CAN BE UPLOADED TO A TERMINAL OF YOUR CHOICE." an' I could see realization slowly dawnin' on the lad and then he was lookin' at his own Tone like it was Santa Claus with 'is flyin' reindeers and I swear he looked like he wanted to hug th' chunk of metal.

Thas' Titans for you. One minute you're cursin' their logic routines, an' the next you're left wonderin' 'sactly what goes on in that metal brain of theirs, y'know? An' trust me, you'll realize it soon 'nough as well. When you've been through as much as me an' my Ion have, Titans are no longer just that warmachine who gets you out o' a bad spot. They're one o' your squadmates.

Although if your Titan ever tells you anythin' about tossin' you over a gap bein' the most reasonable course o' action, you tell it to eff off, you hear me? I still got back aches now an' then after that one time. Mission demands you to get across a chasm o' some sorts, Briggs herself can come 'n ferry me over, if she so desires.


	7. Under A Moonlit Sky

So despite all my complainin', turned out there actually was somethin' useful 'n that thing we was sent to retrieve. Apparently some IMC egghead had decided he'd had 'nough an' went rogue. Now, guy must've been smart, but not too bright, seein' how he did a poor job at hidin' his tracks, an' the IMC was already of a mind to go an' say hello t'him. At the same time though, the man was bright 'nough to pick 'n outer rim planet as his hidey hole, 'n one part 'o the neutral zone at that, which meant his former employers couldn't just barge in 'n full force an' drag him away in chains. They might be vicious 'n tyrannical, but even the IMC has to abide to some rules, y'know? Most of the time, anyways.

So that meant they had to go about quietly, an' 'course, the same was true for us as well. Couldn't just let'em get one o' their assets back, not if we had anythin' to say about it, which we did, an' by "we" I mean "me 'n the rest of the squad". Since we were th' ones who'd retrieved the info 'n the first place, we were fully intendin' to see where it all went, so we volunteered to go an' get our man. 'Cept there was one tiny issue. Mission would've to be undercover, but since Nosedive looks an' acts too much like a soldier, Shindig's a bit of a goof at times an' Haywire gets twitchy if he doesn't have access to military-grade software, that only left me an' Heartlock. Just me 'n him then, donnin' the cloaks of civilians an' embarkin' on the next ferry shuttle to some backwater planet. We had to look the part, see, so we couldn't just pick up one o' our own transports an' get dropped there; we had to look like people runnin' away from th' conflict or from our own past. Anyone lives on a planet where automation's a luxury rather than commonplace, there's got to be a good reason for it.

Now, thanks to the data we'd found, we knew this scientist of ours was livin' somewhere in the vicinity of a town known as Woodcutter's Gulch. Yeah, apparently even now that we've mastered th' secrets of interplanetary travel, there's still people who do woodcuttin' for a livin'. Guess wood's cheaper than steel an' easier to work with, which would just 'splain why so many shacks 'n hovels were made out o' logs 'round there. An' to reach the place, we had to take a half-day trip on some sort 'o wheeled transport that looked like it'd come straight out 'o another century, rust 'n worrisome rattlin' included. An' then we reached it, Woodcutter's Gulch. I called it a town before, didn't I? Well, let's just say I was bein' awfully generous, seein' how it was just n' assortment o' few dozen or so huts, a couple sawmills an' what passed for an inn. Place certainly was quaint, I'll give it that, hah.

Granted, it had its perks. Namely, the fact that people livin' there, they don't go around askin' questions as long as you're willin' to do your part to be a productive member of their, uh, society, if you can call it that, an' both me an' Heartlock didn't mind some exercise to keep us 'n good shape. Yes, 'course I mean woodcuttin', what else do you think there's to do in a place thas' named after that? But, obviously, we had a job to do, didn't we? Findin' out our guy wasn't too hard, truth be told. He'd apparently taken residence 'n some shack out 'n the woods, not too far from th' town but not too close either, an' he got by thanks t' his knack for repairin' an' improvin' what machinery they had there. He also didn't really hang out often there 'n the Gulch, only got out o' his shack to buy supplies or when he'd work to do. Now, as I told you, people livin' there didn't ask no questions, but to someone who came lookin' for him, he stuck out like a stain on Nosedive's uniform.

But that was only part 'o our assignment. IMC was also lookin' for him, remember? An' we didn't know what they knew or where they were at th' time, so we couldn't just, go greet the guy an' tell him we were there t' rescue him. Best case scenario, he wouldn't have trusted us, 'cause why would you trust two strangers tellin' you they're your saviors, an' worst case scenario, we'd give the bad guys a proper chance to kill two birds with one stone, an' in our case, I mean that literally. So we just had to wait, blend in as much as we could, an' act like we was some sort 'o guardian angels for the guy. Accordin' to our intel though, we knew the plan to grab th' guy an' bring him offworld was still in its plannin' stages when we'd become aware of it, an' seein' as our dear scientist was still livin' his days as Woodcutter's Gulch tech-savvy weirdo, either they weren't there yet or they'd been waitin' for somethin'. Now, that infernal contraption that passes for a public transport 'round there only arrived twice a day, so either me or Heartlock would always make sure to be there to check what it was deliverin' to this not-so-promised land, an' sure 'nough, it didn't take long before our foresight paid its dividends, so to speak. As I was busy bein' a proper member of this community, Heartlock calls me via comms an' tells me that four conspicuous-lookin' sons of a taint had just arrived there 'n the Gulch. Those might not have been his actual words, by the way, I'm just paraphrasing, y'know?

Here's where things got a bit tricky. Y'see, we couldn't just have a shootout with 'em right there at noon n' the city square like we was in some movie of old. First of all, bystanders might've gotten hurt, an' thas' a no-no in my book. Secondly, killin' them was out of the question 's long as we were 'n that planet, no matter the where an' when. Not that we couldn't have or didn't want to, mind - but as I told you, we were on neutral ground, remember? An' while neither we nor them should've been there, givin' the IMC some o' their own shot up to pieces to show would've shifted th' guilt balance 'gainst us - while the footin' on which their own were there was at best a bit shaky, outright military action on our side would've been a blatant breach o' treaties, an' we didn't want t' give any more ammunition to IMC's propaganda. That said, roughin' 'em up a bit was fair game; more n' that, it would've been at the very least an embarrassment for them, hehe.

Now, accordin' to what Heartlock told me, those four newcomers didn't exactly bother too much with the blendin' in, like we did. Not that they were goin' around flauntin' that they were IMC, 'course, but they weren't particularly interested in gettin' acquainted with the locals either, an' you could tell that they were up to no good. Which also meant they weren't plannin' on wastin' no time, and they would've acted soon as possible, likely at night, seein' as durin' the day there was always the chance some townsfolk were of a mind to go visit our target, an' I doubt bein' caught 'n the act was in their interest. Granted, we didn't know they would act the same night o' their arrival, but we'd a feelin' that'd be the case, an' as it turned out, we weren't wrong.

So by sundown, we were already gettin' ready. Once we'd found out where the man's shack was, we'd filled the trail leadin' up to it an' the surroundin' area with low-frequency motion sensors, somethin' Haywire had come up with in its free time an', accordin' to him, pretty much untraceable by most wave-frequency detectors. They were also wee little things, so hidin' them out 'o sight was easy 'nough, an' as long as we were close by, we'd be warned of anyone approachin'. We also had set up a not-too-conspicuous hidin' spot - the scientist's shack was surrounded by forest all 'round, so it wasn't too hard to gather up enough branches an' assorted greenery. Place didn't have the best line 'o sight on the clearing 'round the shack, but it didn't matter since as I told you, we'd have ample warning anyway.

Now it was just a matter of good ol' patience, which we didn't lack, but as a couple hours went by... Well, there's only so much time you can spend sittin' still in a humid place with bugs crawlin' over you before you start wonderin' how long 'till you go insane, or fall asleep. Whichever comes first. So I can't remember who was the first, but me 'n Heartlock started talkin'. Truth be told, I remember it was mostly him talkin' - first about mission-related stuff, then the conversation kind of took a different path an' he started tellin' me 'bout his family. Yeah, the man's married, you didn't know that? He also has two little daughters, an' hearing him talk about them, you'd think there's nothing else matters more 'n them to him. Anyway, he starts talkin' about how they recently had their first days o' middle school an' the holophotos they sent him an' how proud of a father he is. An' then he takes a pause, an' asks me, "Hey Goat, listen. After this is over...the war, I mean...Why don't you come stay with us, for a while? The girls already call you Uncle Goat, you know, haha."

I didn't reply. Not because I didn't want to, or 'cause I thought 'twas a stupid question. But, y'know... I'm not big on plannin' long term, right? An' Heartlock, askin' me right out of the blue what I'm goin' to do after the war... I didn't know what to tell him. So I just sat there, silent, lookin' at the trail like 'twas the only thing I had 'n mind at the time. An' him, I think he didn't know what else to say either, so there was just silence.

We were saved by a warnin' appeared on our PDA, of all things - one of the motion sensors got triggered, and soon enough we saw them. They were our four newcomers all right, comin' up on the trail an' all brewin' trouble. They certainly weren't plannin' on wastin' no time, an' the fact that they acted despite it bein' full moon only served as a remark o' that. Time had come to make our move, then. But not towards the four no-gooders, as I'm sure you're thinkin' in that head o' yours. No, we started movin' silently towards the back of the shack, circlin' around it. Y'see, if you don't put your brain to work, you ain't gonna last long 'n the field. IMC must've had at least a hunch we knew 'bout their operation here, right? An' these guys went straight for the guy's shack, like they already knew where he was, an' didn't exactly put much effort into keepin' a low profile. So either they were both the dumbest an' the luckiest morons IMC had available, or they weren't the only ones here. An' a second warnin' from the motion sensors proved we were right. Short after that, we hear some ruckus an' some swearin' comin' from the from the front side o' the shack - idiots must've tripped in some of the traps our common friend had set up, as we knew he did, which doesn't exactly speak in favor of them not bein' morons. No chance the scientist didn't know there was someone comin' for him, but thas' what the other fools - two of 'em, as it turned out - were there for, right? To halt the man's escape should he decide to cut and run, which was just about what they were doin' as we got the jump on 'em an' knocked them out cold.

Luckily our egghead friend got a grasp of the situation fairly quickly an' decided comin' with us was better than takin' his chances with the thugs who'd just unceremoniously broken down his shack's door. Fellas must've been mighty pissed, thas' for sure. All the better for us. Not keepin' a clear mind is the first mistake you can do when you're on the field, no matter if you're inside your Titan or out in the wild apprehendin' some guy dissatisfied with his employer. Now, unlike them, we like to do our homework, to cover our bases, so to speak. We knew the four dunderheads wouldn't just give up an' call it a day, so we made sure not to bother coverin' our tracks. Y'see, we wanted them to follow us, 'cause then we could lead them to one neat surprise we'd readied just for them. A good ol' net trap, like the ones my grandfather taught me to build 'n hide when I was just a wee little child. We're so used to technology, sometimes we forget about the methods of old, y'know? An' apparently these guys did twice in a row, seein' as even after trippin' into doc's intruder-dissuadin' contraptions, they didn't think we'd have the same idea. Shows how much they knew.

'Course, doesn't mean you can't improve on old methods. Namely, we'd used titanium alloy ropes, so they couldn't just cut 'em with a knife an' set themselves free - they'd have to wait for their friends to wake up, an' they didn't look like they were plannin' to do just that anytime soon. Not that we were of a mind to wait for them. Our ride was waitin' for us, an' no, I don't mean that hellish museum piece we'd taken to get to Woodcutter's Gulch. This time us 'n our newfound friend would have a proper ride out of here - an' old smuggler friend of mine who owed me one. Yeah, 'course we didn't just call one o' our transports - neutral territory, remember? One of ours blitzin' in an' out would have been awfully suspicious, don't you think? Good thing good ol' Goat here has friends in all the right places, hah.

So, here's the lesson for you tonight. Out there 'n the field, you might have plenty o' gadgets an' doohickeys that look like they do all the work for you. But that ain't what makes a Pilot, well, a Pilot. They help, 'course. But electronics might get jammed, or hacked, or stop workin' because sometimes, they just do, or even not tell you all there is to know. Only thing you can really rely on out there to stay alive, is keepin' your own wits about you. Your brain, your eyes, your aim, that's what you should trust, an' those of your friends, 'course. That's what makes a Pilot a Pilot, you hear me? Don't go becomin' like Haywire, who wouldn't even know when to piss if his PDA didn't tell him.


End file.
